Fires
by solace-avon
Summary: If Briseis had met Achilles even before the war had started, would their love still have been the same?
1. Default Chapter

**Title: **_Fires_

**Author's Note: **_By now, you should know that none of the writers in this section own Troy. I'm afraid that Wolfgang Peterson deserves that._

Briseis could feel the heavy tension in the room even before she entered it. She could see that men's eyes were openly gaping at the vision of the young woman who was standing at the doorway. She could feel the bristling annoyance of their wives who gazed in bitter jealousy. And she had arrived just in time to hear Paris, dear Paris, say,

"Father, this is Helen of Troy."

He was speaking to Priam and confusion flashed across the old king's face, but it was smoothed over by a warm, welcoming smile that he gave to Helen. Not Helen of Sparta, but Helen of Troy. The old men, the advisors of Priam looked troubled. The young men, especially Deiphobus, looked delighted. And the women all turned to each other and whispered.

"Honored queen," Deiphobus spoke, his voice awed. "Your presence is that of a living goddess."

_A living goddess. She could certainly imitate one. _

"More of a cursed goddess than a blessed one!"

Everyone whipped around to see Cassandra, daughter of Priam, standing in the room. They backed away from her as if she had some protective bubble around her.

"If you let this _goddess_ dwell among us, she will bring doom upon all of us!" Cassandra shrieked, a slender finger pointing at Helen in accusation.

"You're right," Helen whispered, her own blue-green eyes gazing at Cassandra. "Menelaus will come for me."

Helen's voice was a tender caress, deep and sorrow-filled, to Cassandra's harsh crows and the men heard only Helen's voice, a song to their ears.

Deiphobus let out a huge bellow of laughter that sounded more like a roar. "We shall see if Menelaus, a man who couldn't even hold on to his wife, can dare to step up to the great gates of Troy!"

Deiphobus beckoned for a servant and announced, "We shall have a feast to celebrate the safe arrival of Queen Helen!"

And among all the cheers and careless jolly, Briseis could hear Cassandra hiss at Deiphobus.

"Fool."

No one else heard her though and Paris rushed forward to take Briseis's hands in his own.

"Dear cousin!" he said, laughing and smiling, placing a kiss on each cheek. "Are you not glad to see me safely home?"

Briseis forced a smile onto her face and in her mind, she thought, 'I am not glad to see her safely at your home.'

"Of course, I'm glad, Paris," she responded warmly.

He touched her white dress that had been spun of light silk. "White," he murmured and looked at her, surprised. "You chose the virgin robes of a priestess?"

She nodded, loving the chance to shock him. "My own choice and no one else's."

But Paris looked disappointed. "I thought that you were going to marry Mynes," he said slowly and turned his head to observe Mynes who was also standing in the court.

"Did you not like him?" he questioned.

'_More like despise him,' _Briseis thought and shrugged. "It was my choice." _And not yours._

Days later, Menelaus did indeed come storming to the gates of Troy, yelling for a private meeting with King Priam. He had brought three important figures with him for counsel was his explanation. But it seemed more as if they had been brought to impress and threaten.

Briseis and Cassandra had gone out of the gates for a ride in the meadows and when they returned, they found a herd of unknown horses in the stables.

"This one's a beauty," Briseis remarked, rubbing the nose of a tall, handsome stallion.

Its coat was the color of deep, dark ebony and its hair was very fine and well-combed like a lady's hair almost. But its eyes had a wild, feral look in them. 'A war horse,' Briseis guessed.

"I wonder if the owner would let me ride it," Briseis spoke out loud.

"Depends if you can handle him or not."

It wasn't Cassandra's voice. Briseis turned around to see a young man with rather long hair the color of gold and sunshine. Then, she noticed his eyes, light blue and light hearted. _An Achaean, _she realized. _No doubt with his fair hair and eyes._

"Patroclus," he introduced himself, holding his hand out.

Briseis stared at it. She hardly ever touched a stranger, especially a Greek stranger. Slowly, she untangled her fingers from the horse's mane and slipped them into Patroclus's hand. His hand had calluses. _From the use of weapons._

He was also stronger than her and when she tried to pull her hand out of his grasp, she realized that she couldn't. Glaring at him furiously, she tugged on her hand, using her free hand to slap him on the wrist.

"Let go!" she exclaimed, frustrated.

"Tell me your name first," he laughed, his eyes sparkling at her displeasure.

"My name's Briseis!" she replied and he let go and she fell backwards onto the floor.

Patroclus was laughing even harder now, but he did help her up.

"It's not really my horse," he explained. "It's my cousin's, but he always says that whatever belongs to him belongs to me."

"Does that mean that you'll let me ride it?" she asked eagerly.

"It's a him," Patroclus corrected and he opened the stable door, observing her closely.

"Why don't you meet my cousin and he'll decide if you can ride it?" Patroclus suggested. "I mean, if you break a bone, our hosts wouldn't be very happy. You are royalty, right?"

Briseis looked up at him, surprised. "How did you know?"

"I just do," Patroclus replied, grinning. "Anyway, you're lucky if you ever get to meet my cousin. Perhaps, you've heard of him? His name is Achilles."

And they walked off to meet Achilles.


	2. Golden

Title: Fires 

**Chapter Title: Golden**

BRISEIS'S POV-

Of course I had heard of this Achilles. Who is this world has not? From every end of Greece and beyond, the name of this warrior has echoed through the land. Even the dark-skinned Egyptians whispered his name in fear for the rumor was that he was a god. Some said he was ten feet tall and carried an even taller spear. Others claimed that he raced in a chariot led by black horses that ran faster than any other creature in this world and that he would trample you to death. All though, described his hair like molten gold, so finely shining that even if he was not a god, he could certainly impersonate one.

I remembered Helen and her own silken tresses of spun gold that made her resemble Aphrodite. Such fair hair is so rare in Troy that anyone with it is instantly holy.

"Briseis," Patroclus called me out of my daze. "This is my cousin, Achilles."

I looked up from staring at the ground to meet his eyes. Like Patroclus's, they were a clear, light blue, the blue of a cloudless day. But they were deeper than Patroclus's. They were unreadable, probably because he hid emotions with practice. Or maybe, he didn't have feelings at all. He was a warrior still, a ruthless murderer. And yet, still, I was entranced in those eyes, trying to find the slightest hint of anything at all except blue.

I did find a bit of carelessness. He barely glanced at me before saying something to Patroclus.

'_Not only ruthless, but rude,'_ I thought angrily and then clapped my hand over my mouth when I realized that I had said those thoughts out loud.

Achilles and Patroclus both looked up at me. Patroclus was looking shocked and Achilles looked stone cold as usual. For a moment, I expected him to strike me, but he laughed. A dry, humorless laugh. Appearing relieved, Patroclus joined in as well leaving me just standing there to be laughed at. My cheeks were flushing hot crimson and barely holding on to my temper, I said through gritted teeth,

"It's true and you have just proved it even more."

I was about to stomp away when Patroclus blocked me and said playfully,

"But I thought that you wanted to ride the stallion that you admired so much."

Achilles scoffed and challenged,

"Can you handle such a horse as mines? It's not going to be like riding the ponies that you have."

_So he thinks me a child and an ignorant one at that. _I held up my head proudly, letting every bit of whatever royal manner I had show through.

"I don't ride ponies!" I exclaimed furiously. "Can I ride your horse or not?"

He looked me in the eye, steely once again, and gave a curt nod.

"No, you can't!"

Cassandra had suddenly appeared by my side and she started scolding me, making me look more like a child than before.

"Only stupidity drives one to trust a Greek!" she cried and then faced Achilles. At the sight of his face, she gave a gasp and backed away, her eyes focused on him in fear.

Breaking into sudden sobs, she shrieked,

"Murderer! He's a murderer and he'll kill us! He'll strike our brothers and fathers down and..."

Instantly, she staggered, as if struck and indeed, she had been struck by a terrible vision.

"Hector!" she screamed. "He'll kill Hector!"

The mere thought of those words sent shivers down my spine and I brushed it away quickly. Awkwardly, I helped Cassandra up and whispered soothingly as I could,

"No, sister, it's just a dream, only a dream."

_More like a nightmare._

"No, no," Cassandra whispered desperately, her eyes flicking from Briseis to Achilles. "It's a vision, a true one. Those Greeks with the golden hair will destroy us all!"

People said that Cassandra was mad, but suddenly, she seemed to make a lot of sense. Helen would bring war to Troy and Achilles would surely be in that battle. I no longer wanted to ride that horse, that horse whose master loved the heat of battle. Cassandra had fainted now, exhausted by those visions and I alone could not carry her back to the palace. For a moment, I'm sure that I looked completely lost, but then amazingly, Achilles picked up her body in his arms. Dumbfounded, I led him back to the palace where he put her back down on her bed. And for a moment, I'm sure that I could see humanity in his eyes.


	3. MY Vision

**Chapter Title: MY Vision**

Briseis's POV

The Greeks have left.

Simply packed up and gone. Without foul oaths and savage promises, they left. Without Helen, they left.

I had expected Menelaus to stir up a storm of rage. I had expected him to drive his sword through Helen as soon as she appeared. He did neither. Of course, he protested. He protested, saying,

"But she is _my_ wife! Your son, good King Priam, is no more than a pirate, stealing off _my_ wife like he would steal _my_ lands,_ my _gold, and _my _treasures. You hear me, she is _MINE!"_

I wondered, '_How many times does he have to state that before he realizes that we get it. We get it. She's yours. So why don't you just steal her back?'_

Of course it wasn't that simple or Menelaus would have just grabbed her by her long hair and left. Paris would not give her up. Uncle would not give her up. Because we had the glorious, the golden Helen of Troy among us, the Trojan men would not give her up.

As soon as Cassandra had found out that Menelaus had left without Helen, she threw herself into frenzy before calming to a cool elegance.

"They will come back to our shores," she stated confidently.

And then, she called me to her side. We sat on two ornately carved wooden stools, looking out of our balcony, toward the horizon. From that balcony, you could see the wide stretch of beach that surrounded Troy and you could see the tiny black dots that were the Greek ships becoming smaller and smaller.

Cassandra looked out toward the horizon as if she could see something other than that vast emptiness. As if she could read my thoughts, she touched my hand and said,

"You can see it too."

And suddenly, the roaring waves that crashed against the rocky cliffs turned into crackling flames that seemed to reach the midnight sky. Red. Golden. Yellow. All I could see were the vivid colors of fire spreading around me. All I could smell was the stench of smoke. All I could hear were the screams of those perishing.

_Perishing? From what?_

Cassandra's chillingly cold hand let go of mines and it vanished like a wisp of smoke. I turned to see Cassandra's clear eyes regarding me. Her eyes were like pools of lake water, lightly gray and reflecting all the colors that she saw. Her eyes were mirroring red, golden, and yellow so I knew that she had seen it too.

Cassandra was not the only one who saw visions, or rather hallucinations as many people scoffed. Her twin, Helenus, had that gift too. But Helenus tended to be more quiet about what he saw. He knew what to say and when to say it. As I began my training as a priestess, he was my mentor.

Though more serious and solemn than Paris, Helenus was a better mentor to have than the high priest who had you whipped for not sprinkling enough ash onto Apollo's altar.

Trying to maintain a very solemn and devout expression, I marched slowly up to the altar and sprinkled the coarse ash into the sacrifice dish. The high priest observed me sternly before remarking sourly,

"You're acceptable."

If he hadn't accepted me, Paris would've thrashed him anyway.

I flashed a smile at Helenus which he returned. And then, the most unexpected thing happened. The warning bell began to ring.

Whenever an enemy's ships were spotted, the guards in the watchtower would immediately ring the huge warning bell that meant: Get back into the city and stay there.

But the temple was outside the city walls and the high priest simply scoffed and said,

"Apollo will protect us."

And that was when the first flame of doubt flickered inside of me. Would Apollo protect us from bloodthirsty Greeks and even more bloodthirsty swords?

Apollo. That was the only thing to keep us protected. A belief. We would be the first target since we were unguarded and undefended. No priest carried weapons or knew how to use one. The most we could do is sprinkle ash to blind the enemy.

The war was over before it started. One ship had gained an incredible lead in front of the others and the Greeks inside stormed out and onto the beach. For a moment, I was bewitched by that sight and then Helenus grabbed my arm.

"Come with me," he hissed.

He pulled me toward the back of the temple where there was a hidden cranny behind a massive tapestry.

"Get in and stay in," he ordered. "Don't make a sound."

"What about you?" I called after him.

He didn't answer. He didn't even look back as he rushed away.

And then, the war was inside the temple. I could hear the cruel battle-cries and the howls of victory over old priests. I could hear the clang of cold, hard metal and steel. And as I peeked out of my cranny, I could see a priest fall, slashed through by a jagged sword. Sudden tears filled my eyes as I gagged at the sight of so much lost blood.

For one woman. For one king. So much blood was lost.

And then, I saw the most horrible sight of all.

A man with golden hair had knocked off the soft gold head of Apollo's statue with one blow of his already bloodstained sword. One priest had rushed toward him to scream in protest.

One sword swipe later, that priest's head was removed and as it fell, I recognized it as the head of my own, dear Helenus and the murderer was Achilles.


	4. Hatred

**Chapter: Hatred**

**Author's Note: Characters' thoughts are italicized. **

**Briseis's POV**

The hideous sight tore a gasp from my throat and suddenly, I found myself scrambling out of my hiding place.

'_What are you doing?' my own mind was screaming at this insanity._

I wasn't thinking when I fell to my knees near the body of my dead cousin. I wasn't thinking as I picked up his head. And my insides recoiled in disgust and shock as my fingers felt blood. I would've screamed, but as I looked into those dead eyes, my very mind froze. I felt nothing, I heard nothing, I saw nothing.

I didn't even realize that I was still holding Helenus's head until strong fingers pulled it away from me. They were the fingers of a Greek. I shrank back immediately. And something, something I've never felt before, blazed up in roaring flames.

One Greek was trying to pull me up now. I bit his fingers.

And got struck in the face in return. I couldn't help, but cry out. The blow knocked me to the ground and I lay there cowering with blood trickling from my new wound as my Greek harasser hovered over me, his face ugly with triumph. His fingers, slimy fingers, wiped away some blood from my cheek before flicking it in my eyes. Tears were gathering, threatening to spill.

"Go on," the Greek whispered. "Cry. Cry for me, darlin."

He and his whole posse of warriors burst out laughing. All I could do was will not to cry, not to show any sign of weakness. I swore to Apollo that I would defy them until they killed me. I would be every bit as brave as Helenus had been, standing up to the leader of those murderers, Achilles.

Achilles who had been coolly watching this whole time, suddenly spoke as one of his men raise a hand to slap me.

"Leave her," he ordered, his eyes demanding immediate obedience.

He considered me for a moment with his intent eyes and then said,

"Take her to my tent."

"No!" The cry burst from my lips. I knew what they did to their captives and I absolutely refused to be a whore to my cousin's murderer. Achilles looked at me once more before turning to leave. He probably thought that I should've been thankful. He probably expected me to be drooling at his feet.

I would've been thankful if he had just killed me right there and then.

As they dragged me out the temple, I spotted Helenus's chain of gold that he had always worn around his neck. Cassandra wore one as well. I snatched it before any other greedy Greek could. As I walked out of the temple, I could hear the chants of roaring praise.

"ACHILLES! ACHILLES! ACHILLES!"

They threw me into Achilles' tent which was of course, larger than most. That didn't mean it wasn't messy because the floor was scattered with weapons and boxes.

My captors tied to a pole, ignoring my whimpers of pain as the rough fibers of the rope stung my skin. Every lady of nobility is trained to have soft skin and soft skin does not go well with rough rope.

Barbarians. Barbaric savages who slaughter unarmed elders to show off their might.

All I could do was wait, sit there and wait for Achilles who would probably...

No, I couldn't think about that. Anything, but that.

But it wasn't Achilles who walked through the hut's entrance. It was Patroclus.

At first, he squinted at me, trying to see who I was underneath all the blood and muck.

"Briseis?" he exclaimed, disbelieving. "Briseis!"

"I had almost forgotten that name."

Achilles too had entered the tent, followed by a dark-haired man.

"As you requested, my lord," the dark-haired man said respectfully. "For your...amusement."

Achilles did not look amused.

Patroclus didn't either. He looked at the few threads left of my robes and said,

"I'll find you something...less exposing."

He left. Achilles strode to a set up wash bowl filled to the brim with water, clean water. I suddenly realized how dirty I was.

"You're a priestess, Briseis?"

I didn't answer. This man was evil, evil, evil! How dare he speak to me as if he knew me? How dare he after he killed my cousin in front of my own eyes?

I could hear the clank of steel armor falling to the ground and the softer fall of leather. I turned around, confused, and then closed my eyes rapidly.

This man had just shown a priestess what a priestess should never see. Pure. I have to remain pure. I willed to forget and yet it stayed and a blush was darkening my cheeks.

"Did you hear me?" Achilles asked, oblivious to what a shameful act he had just committed.

His fingers flicked droplets of water in my face and my blush deepened to more red from anger. Hatred stirred up within me again and I spat out in an accusing voice, the voice that the high priest used to make me feel guilty,

"You killed Apollo's priests."

That flat statement should've been enough to summarize what I felt. You killed innocent old men who couldn't defend themselves. You killed my cousin. You men say you kill for glory and honor, but killing innocents isn't glorious or honorable!

And suddenly, Achilles was at my side, whipping out a knife and brandishing it toward me.


	5. Animal

**Chapter Title: Animal**

Briseis's POV 

_Coward. I am a coward._

Even as I stared Achilles in the eye and acted like the self-sacrificing martyr I wanted to be, I was a coward. I was afraid. I didn't want to die and at the last moment, I closed my eyes and turned away, unable to watch my murderer sink his knife into me. But it never happened and I peeked at Achilles from the corners of my eyes.

He was still holding the dagger in one hand, but his other had gathered up a handful of my hair and he was leaning in, closer and closer. I trembled as I felt his presence right by my side, not daring to breathe as he breathed softly against my ear. He inhaled the scent of my hair, fingering the strands in his hand before letting them fall back against my cheek. This is not what murderers do their victims. This is what seducers like Paris do to victims.

"And you are here to punish me?" he questioned, though it was not as a joke. I doubt that anything with him would be a joke.

"The Sun God will have his vengeance," I spat. "And his vengeance shall be mine as well."

Back at the washbasin, Achilles tilted his head, considering how seriously I was taking this. I was dead serious. But he was patronizing me. Playing with me. He swept up great handfuls of water and sprayed it all over his face.

"His priests are dead and his royal acolyte held captive," he stated. "I think your god is afraid of me."

Afraid? Gods are never afraid of mortals. They are and always will be superior and almighty. How could he even dream that the forces that created this world are afraid of him? Compared to the gods, he was nothing.

"Apollo is master of the sun!" I cried. "He is afraid of nothing and most certainly not afraid of 'oh great!' Achilles!"

"Then where is he?" Achilles demanded sharply, gripping the basin with white knuckles and looking at me impatiently.

His sudden annoyance and anger had surprised me and my mouth shut automatically. I wasn't used to moody people like him.

He was mocking me, taunting me. He was acting as if his actions could still go on unpunished. Well, he was messing around with the wrong god. Had he never heard the stories of mortals who dared to compare themselves with the gods? Had he never heard of consequences?

Achilles was in front of me again and his blue, blue eyes were focused intently on only me. "What is he waiting for?"

I glared daggers at him. I wanted him to feel my hate, that burning hatred that was devouring my soul. I wanted him to know how much I wanted to kill him. But that hatred was now mixed well with confusion.

"The right time to strike," I whispered.

He seemed satisfied. Then,

"Were you related to that priest?"

I knew who he was referring too and fresh tears immediately filled my eyes. I refused to bawl like a child in front of the enemy and willed the tears to evaporate.

"He was my cousin," I said, my voice shaky.

"Is that why you're afraid?" he asked, still stony. "Is that why you hate me, Briseis?"

I hesitate. "You would hate me if I killed Patroclus."

He stiffens and I know this is true. He is like any other human being. He loves those closest to him with all his heart and he hates just as fiercely. And if he is like this as every other human being is, he must also have a weakness.

"Don't be afraid of me," he says and he brings the dagger down on the rope binding my wrists in one swift motion.

Hearing the slightest movement of the tent flap, he turns to face a messenger while I am left to calm my amazement.

"My lord, King Agamemnon demands to see you in his tent," the messenger announces respectfully.

"Demands?" Achilles inquires.

"Requests," the messenger quickly corrects himself.

Achilles scoffs and I am sure that this Agamem...Agamemnio or whatever that king's name is someone Achilles despises.

I am relieved when Achilles leaves me. Now, I can think clearly. His mere presence is disturbing. But I am not left alone for long because a few moments after Achilles is gone, two unfamiliar soldiers charge in, their glinting eyes scanning the hut. Their eyes rest on me and they head toward me, their smiles identically malicious.

My heart is beginning to pound again like that of a rabbit being chased by hunters and their dogs. I can do nothing though and I cannot run like a rabbit.

They pick me up too easily and swing me over their shoulder just like they would do with a burden. All I can do is beat my fists furiously at their back. If I can't be a rabbit, than a lioness shall do.

I jerk my head around and viciously bite the ear of the Greek who holds me. Blood leaks out and he howls, shoving me down toward the ground. I tumble and roll, landing near a pile of sacks. Crouching, I narrow my eyes at that enemy through my tangled hair. I become a feral animal, cornered.

But in the end, they win and I am dragged through the camp into the tent of another. I make a racket all the way. And when I look up, there is Achilles and he too looks like a wild, angry animal.


	6. Kings, Warriors, and Pawns

**Chapter Title: Kings, Warrriors, and Pawns**

At first, all Briseis could see was the flaming fury newly lighted in Achilles' icy eyes. She could see that even he was stunned, shocked, and caught off guard. And then, he regained control. His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened, and his fists clenched, hovering in the air as if ready to pummel someone. Though he stared at her, she could tell that his rage was directed at someone else entirely.

Achilles' gaze jerked from her to another man whom she recognized as Agamemnon, brother of Menelaus. He was also the king of Mycenae and the currently undisputed king of kings. If Briseis had not known this, she would never have guess that _this_ was the supreme ruler of the ruthless Greeks.

The man looked more fit to be a farmer in charge of pigs. He was not a warrior. Perhaps he could hold his sword, but it was of soft gold and sprinkled with crimson rubies that he would not want to stain with blood. He was not exactly the most pleasing face to look upon. Greedy eyes, pockmarked skin, and a coarse, grizzly beard left to grow wild.

His clothes were rich and his robes flashed bright colors like purple and cerulean, but they were too flashy. He was trying to hard to dress the part of a king and he wasn't succeeding.

Agamemnon pressed against her and his greasy hand slid over her hair. Holding her breath, she squirmed as her insides recoiled in pure disgust. She hated his touch, hated feeling that dirty skin on her. She could feel the bump of his many jeweled rings dig into her scalp. If she ever got back to Troy, the first thing she would do would be to wash her hair again and again until she could wash off the memory of him touching her.

"And what about this spoil of war?" Agamemnon asked Achilles softly. "Or did you hide her away so you could have her all to yourself?"

'_This man is a fool to dare to say that to Achilles' face.'_

Achilles looked past him toward the men who held her. The men loosened their grip once captured by his glare.

"If you don't let her go," Achilles warned, his voice low. "Neither of you shall see your homes again."

He was impatient. His hand flew to the hilt of his sword. "Decide."

Agamemnon's eyes gleamed with eagerness.

"Guards," he called, focusing on Achilles with almost triumph.

Immediately, Briseis knew that this battle over a slave girl was an illusion for a bigger battle. She was merely a pawn, a very useful pawn that was precious to one side, Achilles' side.

Guards rushed in, probably expecting some Trojan assassin. Instead, they found themselves facing their true leader, their own demigod whom they worshipped. Achilles. And his sword was in his hand, thirsty for more blood, uncaring whether if the enemy was Trojan or Greek.

"You would risk so much for one slave girl?" Agamemnon questioned. "Why? We all know that whores are easy to obtain and you can find plenty elsewhere."

Agamemnon leaned in toward Briseis, taking in a deep breath of her hair. Achilles watched him closely, his face as smooth as stone.

"What's so special about her?" Agamemnon wondered out loud. "I'm sure that virgins have less experience to please a man such as yourself."

Briseis' cheeks were flaming red now. They were discussing her in such a shameless way as if she were some toy! But to them, she was.

Achilles had had enough. He stepped forward, ready to thrust his sword into the first man who got in his way. Briseis had had enough as well.

"Stop!"

Even to her, her voice sounded oddly strained and foreign. But the tone had captured everyone's attention. Most importantly, it had frozen Achilles.

"Enough men have died today," she said, her breathing heavy. She spoke to Achilles and him only. "I don't want anyone dying for me."

He wasn't looking at her, but at the ground. Was he ashamed?

"If killing is your only talent," Briseis burst out. "The it is your curse as well!"

There, she had finally spilled out what she felt. Now, she waited to see what would happen to her.

Achilles did not speak, but his sword slid back in its sheath and Agamemnon watched with a hungry eyes.

"Mighty Achilles!" he roared. "A demigod silenced by a mere slave girl! What next?"

Achilles was looking at Briseis again, his eyes searching, hers avoiding. And then, he spoke, his sword once again pointed at Agamemnon's heart.

"Before this war is over," Achilles swore softly, promising. "I will look down on your corpse and laugh."

And then he left, amazingly.

He left Briseis to her fate.


	7. Defenseless

**Chapter 7:Defenseless**

'_He left me and now, I am truly alone.'_

Alone. Without defense, without protection. She had never been alone before. There had always been someone watching over her. She had always felt safe knowing that Paris or Hector or any one of her cousins would've been at her side in a second.

'_Think of it as a test,'_ Briseis instructed herself silently. _'A test from Apollo.'_

Agamemnon was examining her closely, his greedy eyes lingering on her chest.

"So tell me, girl," he drawled lazily. "Why is Achilles so...devoted to you?"

He pushed back her hair to reveal the ivory white skin of her neck. His oily fingers played on her collarbone, pulling at the edges of her robes.

"Or rather why does he want you so much?" Agamemnon asked, his eyes glinting. "Don't fool yourself into thinking that he actually cares for you."

She spoke.

"I am no one's fool," she said clearly. "And I hate that murderer."

Agamemnon froze for a moment, drinking in her words. And then, he burst out laughing or rather snorting like a buffalo.

"I wish that Achilles could've heard that!" he bellowed, clapping his hands.

"So what shall I do with you?" Agamemnon questioned in a patronizing tone.

He spoke as if he had every bit of control over her.

"Never touch me again," she replied, forcing that seething hatred she felt toward him.

Agamemnon frowned and then crossed his arms, as if seriously considering the idea. Then, he said,

"No deal."

He pushed her toward the guards and told them to take Achilles' insolent whore into his bedroom. She was to wait for him there until Agamemnon came back from battle.

So she was pushed into Agamemnon's room where there already lay two other waiting women on the bed. Refusing to sit on the dirty bed, Briseis kneeled on the ground, which was covered with soft furs. The snowy rugs were comforting at least and she lied down on them, bitter tears trickling over her cheeks. She was sure that after tonight, she would no longer be pure enough for herself or her god.

'_I refuse to sit here and let it happen!'_ she cried to herself.

The two women on the bed leaned over to inspect her, narrowing their eyes as if they had just spotted a rival.

"Are you Achilles'?" one asked, her eyes glittering.

"I belong to no one!" Briseis fired back. "And I never will!"

The women chuckled to each other, laughing at the naïve girl.

"Oh, but you're lucky or you were anyway," the other woman continued. "If I had the most handsome man in Greece as my master, I would be screaming in joy."

'_Wanta trade masters?'_ Briseis thought.

Hours later, the flaps of the tent finally flew open and Agamemnon stormed through, his face a forbidding mask of fury. His wild eyes darted from the whores to Briseis and finally, he hissed,

"You girl, come with me!"

She ignored him and then felt his hands yank her hair, dragging her out of the tent.

"Let go!" she yelled.

The fire tore through her head and hot tears stung her eyes. It hurt, how it hurt! That tugging felt like it was going to rip her head open and she would explode into a thousand pieces. Her limp body was pulled through the dirt, receiving pain too, but not feeling it.

Agamemnon had stopped and he let go her hair. She collapsed to the ground, toppled. One sleeve of her robe had been ripped off and she could see a painting of crimson streaks on creamy canvas.

Dazed, she could hear men nearing her, their mocking laughter ringing in her ears. They were gripping her, touching her, violating her. She gave a cry of rage and she had no idea of how much she sounded like Achilles then. Her arm flew up and smacked against the cheek of a man. How satisfying that felt!

More men were coming, surrounding her. She was the prey and they were the predators, closing in.

'"_Die with honor," Hector had always said.'_ She remembered and suddenly, strength flowed back into her body, renewed by those words, those faint words.

She flung herself at a man, beating her fists on his face and crying and sobbing. _'If only those ladies at court could see me now,' _she thought amused. _'And they would not recognize fine princess Briseis at all.'_

Arms pulled her off. Hands ripped at her bodice. And then, her eyes focused on one thing and one thing only: a glowing orange-red firebrand heading for her.

"No!" she whispered fiercely. She closed her eyes, trying to hold back the streaming tears.

So this was how it would end. _'I fought back though, Hector,'_ she thought. _'I fought back.'_

And then came the cry of hope and of doom: "ACHILLES!"


	8. The Easiest Thing

Chapter: The Easiest Thing 

**Author's Note: From now on, I'm going to blend the movie and my own ideas together so it'll be kinda different and kinda similar.**

'_Achilles?'_

The men who had seized her now let go quickly and Briseis slumped to the ground. She lay unmoving, feeling coarse grains of rough, black sand scrape against her cheek. And then, someone was lifting her up and she leaned against her supporter, unknowing and uncaring of who it was.

"Briseis?"

She looked up, her vision blurred by the blood-matted hair in front of her eyes. His voice sounded much too young to be that of Achilles.

"Patroclus?" she murmured.

His face hovered above hers and he actually looked concerned. Around them, there were screams, dying screams of terror. Briseis could hear pain and as her head turned to rest against Patroclus's shoulder, she could see that wickedly glowing brand land on someone else's skin. She could see the skin glow too and then shrivel and blacken.

And then, strong, capable arms picked her up as easily as they would pick up a child. The hands tightened around her, protectively, and her cheek met the cold metal of a smooth breastplate. She curled against her protector, unaware of who it was, and finally allowed herself to sink into unconsciousness.

When she woke up, Briseis found herself lying in Achilles' tent again. She was lying on a small woven mat and in horror, found Achilles right next to her and dabbing at her wounds with a moist towel.

She gave a sharp gasp and rolled away, landing on her side and glancing at him in fear. He gave her a humoring look and then commanded in his usual arrogance,

"Come here."

She didn't budge and Achilles gave an exasperated sigh before moving over to crouch down next to her again. She froze as he bended over her to clean her wounds.

"Don't touch me," she said and slapped his hand away.

Patroclus was also in the tent and he stared at her, wondering how she dared to speak to his cousin in that way. Or maybe she had a death wish.

"Will I defile your pure Trojan skin?" Achilles snapped and tossed the towel in her face.

Briseis flew up and snatching the towel, flung it right back. It landed with a wet splat on Achilles' chest. He looked ready to strike her when Patroclus broke in and interrupted,

"Briseis can clean herself. She's a big girl now, isn't she?"

Briseis glowered at him.

But Achilles left her alone and she grabbed the towel back. Dunking it into the water and rinsing it out, she blurted out,

"Why do you kill?"

Achilles looked at her closely with his forceful stare and replied seriously,

"Because this is what I was born to do and nothing can change what I am."

"You could change yourself!" Briseis exclaimed, pulling apart the towel furiously.

"Why do you choose to waste your love and devotion on a god?" Achilles questioned. "I would think that the romance would be one-sided."

'_There he goes again! Mocking me!'_ Briseis thought bitterly.

Achilles switched topics.

"To end one's life is the easiest thing," he said, more to himself than to anyone else. "You need no hatred. You can just do it."

Briseis was about to retort how wrong he was when she suddenly realized there would be no point. So she turned away, sullen, but not yet defeated.

After Patroclus had gone back to his tent and Achilles to bed, Briseis lay there in the dark. Her mind played back the conversation with Achilles over and over again until she could only hear his words in her ears and see his face speaking them. _'Is this what it feels like to go insane?'_ Briseis wondered. _'Will he pull me apart day by day until I am truly crazy? How long can I endure this?'_

Unable to close her eyes because she would see him again, Briseis sat up and looked around the tent, recognizing his sleeping figure on the bed. _'How can a murderer like that sleep so peacefully?' _she wondered. _'He deserves to have nightmares, to feel fear. He deserves to feel pain, not peace.'_

Pain. And suddenly, she realized that she had the power to inflict that pain...to the only person whom Achilles loved.

Patroclus.

Assured by Achilles' steady, deep breathing, she crawled over to the pile of his discarded armor. Lying under the breastplate lay a dagger glinting with fulfilling promise. She snatched it up and taking one last look at Achilles, she darted out of the tent.

Luckily, no one else stood in the camp and only the glowing moon watched as she furtively slipped into Patroclus's hut. It was right beside Achilles and looked mostly the same. A massive pile of furs and bedding lay in one corner and there Patroclus slept so still, Briseis almost thought that he was already dead.

Briseis crouched down by the bed and gazed at Patroclus's face carefully. He looked so...innocent, so boyish and young. He looked like Paris.

'_Could I kill him?'_ she wondered suddenly, doubting it. _'Achilles was right, nothing would be easier.'_

Then, she touched Helenus's gold chain, which she now wore always. And the hatred returned, consuming the doubt.

In that moment, she wanted so fiercely for Achilles to feel the same pain that she had felt. She wanted him to fall to his knees and cry. She wanted him to feel like every other human being, to feel weakness and the curse of mortality.

Briseis raised the blade above Patroclus's neck and positioned it over a vein.

And before she could plunge it down, her conscience came back and she threw the knife as far away as she could before temptation sank in again.

No, she would never be able to kill like Achilles. Patroclus had helped her. He had been her ally, in ways. He was the reason she was still alive probably.

"Don't even think about it."

Achilles was at her side now and his face was dark with rage.

"I would never kill him," she spat. "Because I realized that my mistake was not killing you instead."

"Don't fool yourself," Achilles growled. "Your threat's an empty one because you wouldn't be able to kill anyone."

She flew up and opened her mouth to let loose some very ugly words when Achilles clapped his hand over her lips and ordered,

"You can say it when we're back in my tent."

And looking back at Patroclus, she decided to obey. At least someone deserved a peaceful sleep. And she trudged behind Achilles, her new plot forming in place.

Later, sit on the furs, plotting in the dark. Nothing is stopping me from running away.

Patroclus sleeps on a pallet nearby and suddenly, I find myself wondering if I could kill him. Nothing is easier, Achilles had told me. It would be so easy since he slept so deeply.

In that moment, I wanted fiercely for Achilles to feel the same pain that I had felt. I picked up the dagger slowly, raising it above Patroclus's neck. And then, I lowered it. No, I would never be able to kill for no reason like Achilles. Patroclus had helped me. He was my ally, sorta.

"Don't even think about it."

Achilles was at my side in an instant and he tore the dagger from my fingers.


	9. Mortal

Chapter Title: Mortal 

'_He's going to kill me,'_ Briseis thought. _'As soon as I step back inside his tent, he'll take up his sword and decapitate me just like he did with Helenus.'_

She considered running. But where would she go? She was in Greek territory now and only enemies surrounded her. Besides, Achilles' hand was now clamped around her arm forcefully and he wasn't about to let go.

Inside the tent, she stood before him, head bowed (not in shame though). She was silent, waiting for the punishment or execution to come.

"Why?" Achilles asked simply. "Why did you try to harm someone who had helped you, who had done nothing to hurt you?"

Briseis looked up furiously and spat out, "You are such a hypocrite! You ask me why I attacked an innocent when you go out every day and murder many more innocents!"

"Those innocents would kill me if I didn't end their life first," Achilles replied impassively, tossing her accusation into the dirt.

"You want to know why I tried to kill your cousin?" Briseis was now yelling. "Because you murdered mines, a man who had never hurt you, and to get what you Greeks call vengeance, I almost slaughtered your cousin."

Achilles gazed at her. She who had just been a meek shadow a few moments ago was now raging at him like the very spirit of fire itself.

What she was saying made perfect sense to him. It was what he would do if he had been her. But while she was like him in hot-blooded ferocity, her fury left her as rapidly as it came. She was subject to weakness and because of her gentle heart and soul, she was able to stop herself from becoming like him.

"What you were about to do was what I would've done in your place," he said slowly. "But while you entertain yourself by thinking that you can do it, I am the one who would do it."

She stared at him, her cheeks still flushed and her eyes still wide.

"Your point is?" she whispered.

"I suggest that you not believe that you are above all us brutes, priestess," he answered, sinking back into his mocking manner. "You have weakness like all mortals."

He started to head back to bed.

"And you, oh lord Achilles," she said quietly, her own voice taunting with a stinging edge. "I suggest that you not believe that you are above us just because you have no heart or weakness. Beneath your demigod demeanor is a mortal still and that what you are, a mere mortal like the rest of us."

He spun around to see her display a twisted smirk.

"Good luck chasing immortality, mortal," she said softly and went back to lie on the ground.

She could see Achilles' figure frozen where he stood and then, it approached her. He towered over her and she wondered if she had wounded him at last.

But then, he strode away and she surrendered to sleep.

When Briseis woke up, she found herself alone in the hut. There was no Achilles and no one else. She hurried to the entrance of the hut and pushed away the flaps to head outside. Patroclus was sitting by a fire only a few feet away and when he saw her, he immediately beckoned.

"I had the weirdest dream last night," Patroclus said hurriedly as he handed her a small roll of thick, nutty bread. "I dreamed that this person had crawled into my tent and that they had tried to murder me with a dagger!"

"And what happened?" Briseis asked warily.

"The person dropped the blade," Patroclus responded, frowning. "And then, they just left."

"You're lucky," Briseis remarked, letting her hunger take over and chewing a piece of the bread. "If that dream had been real, that person could've killed you."

"Nah," Patroclus dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "I could've woken up at any time. I'm better at fighting than most men are."

"And what if your assassin was a woman?" Briseis questioned, trying to act playful.

Patroclus looked scandalized by the thought. "Women wouldn't dare," he said bluntly. "Women don't know how to use weapons."

Briseis laughed. "Sinking something sharp into a person's body isn't really that hard."

Inside, she was suddenly surprised at herself. Laughing with enemy. She was laughing with Patroclus like she would laugh with Paris.

The day passed slowly and Briseis found that Patroclus was indeed like her cousin. Because both Briseis and Patroclus were restless and forbidden to go anywhere outside the camp, they found other things to do and talked about their families or what was left of their families.

"My parents are dead too," Briseis said quietly after Patroclus told her that he was an orphan living under his elder cousin's care.

They were sitting on the long stretch of beach, their toes just barely skimming the edge of the water. On the horizon, a spectacular sunset glowed gloriously.

'_How strange that last night, I was ready to kill Patroclus,'_ Briseis thought, glancing at him._ 'And now I am ready to pretend that he's Paris and that we're back in the old days.'_

They ate dinner in Achilles' hut along with Achilles himself and a few whores he had brought along. Disturbed by the way the women swooned over the warrior, Briseis decided that she would rather not watch Achilles and his current lovers.

As she stood outside, watching the last shreds of sunlight disappear into the ocean, she wondered how many more days could she last in this camp before she was broken.


	10. Broken

**Chapter Title: Broken**

Briseis silently made her way back to Achilles' hut, avoiding the paths of the drunken men that lumbered about. As she neared the tent, she froze. The moans that she heard from there were definitely coming from more than one woman.

"Briseis!"

She whirled around to face Patroclus and his cocky grin.

"You shouldn't be eavesdropping," he chided her lightly.

"You can hear them without eavesdropping," she shot back, her cheeks flushing, wondering why Patroclus had to always catch her at her most embarrassing moments.

"Would you like me to tell them to quiet down?" Patroclus suggested playfully, heading for the entrance.

"No!" she exclaimed and grabbing his arm, pulled him away.

"Why not?" he challenged her and then teased, "It's nearing your bed time so I better tell them to get out or where shall you sleep?"

'_Never!'_ Briseis was crying in her mind. _'How can I go back in there? Back into that whorehouse?'_

"I won't go back in there!" she yelled, her thoughts consuming her and screaming for her to take action.

Patroclus looked surprised at her raised voice and shrugged. "Fine, then you'll have to sleep in my tent."

She followed him and wondered about how shameless she had become. _'Sleeping in a man's tent?'_ she asked herself. _'What would Uncle, or Hector, or even Paris think?'_

But she would rather sleep there than see those whores lying on _'him.'_ And he would flaunt her in front of her, showing off his nightly conquests before he made her submit by force. And afterwards, he would laugh at her for she would become just like those whores. Shaking now, Briseis curled up in Patroclus's tent, trying to force those thoughts away before they drove her mad.

She must've lied there for hours, struggling to blank out her mind and to just fall into sleep when moonlight poured onto her face. Shielding her eyes that were now accustomed to the darkness, she saw Achilles in the doorway. Only an azure toga covered his lower body and she wondered if he was cold.

They both heard a groan and looked at Patroclus who was covering his face with something that resembled a pillow. Finally, he threw off the pillow and sat up to stare at Achilles and Briseis.

"What is it?" he demanded, cranky about his disturbed sleep.

Achilles glanced at Briseis and casually remarked,

"I almost stormed over to Agamemnon's camp to see if he had stolen my property again."

"Sorry," Patroclus mumbled. "But she didn't want to take part in your nightly fun."

Smiling, Achilles shrugged. "If she belongs to me, then she is yours as well."

"I don't like it when people talk about me as if I were some cow," Briseis broke in.

"Then you would be a very troublesome cow," Achilles replied, smirking at her. "For everything that involves you now involve trouble...and defiance."

Kneeling down to face her at eye level, he suddenly grasped her arm and examined the healing cuts on it. His rough fingers traced a gash that had just begun bleeding again.

Briseis hardly dared to breathe or move as his grip held her. Why was it that whenever she was near his presence, she felt petrified?

"Are you comfortable here?" he asked.

She wondered why he would care and quietly replied, "Yes."

"Wouldn't you rather sleep in a bed?" he questioned. "Most women of royalty prefer to keep their skin soft."

His tone was mocking now. Patroclus interrupted, laughing,

"You're joking, cousin! Briseis would as soon as kill herself than sleep in a bed with one of us in it."

Achilles looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said carelessly,

"Come, Briseis."

She didn't budge. Patroclus whispered for her to move.

"Must I carry the royal princess?" Achilles demanded impatiently. And when she still didn't move, he sighed and crouched down to carry her.

He lifted her up in his arms as easily as he would lift up a child. Briseis's cheek was next to his chest again, but this time, he was bare. She could feel his skin, warm, and she could feel his steady, rhythmic heartbeat. Suddenly scared, she pushed herself out of his arms and said in a shaking voice,

"I'll walk."

At least the whores weren't in his bed when she came in. Of that, she was extremely glad. She saw his weapons and armor tossed carelessly on the ground, unused and gleaming of pure silver. There was no blood. Briseis recalled that all of the Myrmidons in camp had been in camp all day.

"Why didn't you join the battle today?" Briseis asked.

"I no longer fight at the whim of Agamemnon," Achilles replied simply.

"What made you decide that?" she inquired, her heartbeat racing. Most girls in her situation would've wanted him to reply that they were the cause of him abandoning his warrior self. She feared the answer.

"I make my own decisions," Achilles responded loudly.

"I suppose that it's not because you fear the gods," she mused out loud.

Achilles looked back at her, first annoyed, then pensive. He tossed her a blanket and whispered by her ear,

"I'll tell you something that your priests don't tell you. The gods envy us."

His voice was silky smooth, deep and full like the ocean. It was like a honey sweet web that she had gotten stuck in and the more she struggled, the more she was wrapped up in it. She listened.

"They envy us because we are mortal," he continued. "And every moment is more precious in our lives because we are mortal."

'_He's lying,'_ Briseis thought desperately, still struggling.

"We will never be here again," Achilles murmured. "This moment shall only happen once."

He looked at her face so softly, so tenderly in awe like the way Paris looked at Helen.

"You will never be lovelier than you are now," he said gently, a totally new side of him.

Briseis drew in her breath. She felt enchanted, the same way she felt after hearing Priam tell her a story. And yet, there was still struggle in her.

"I thought you were just a dumb brute," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I could've forgiven a dumb brute."

But he smiled, because he knew that he had broken her. She had expected him to do so by force. But he had drawn her in like predator drawing prey and then shattered something in her by words, mere words. But powerful, seductive words.

'_I need help,'_ she prayed. _'For he knows whatever happens next, will be only a victory to him.'_


	11. peace

**Chapter Title: Peace**

Long after Achilles had fallen asleep again, Briseis had finally decided on what to do. She hated the fact that she had no control here, no control over her fate because _he _was the one who held her life in his hands. She hated the fact that he was taking her apart piece by piece, destroying every fragment of belief that she had based her life upon.

An impulse had burst out in her mind, a crazy urge that seemed to also be the only sensible action. She would kill him.

'_He deserves death,'_ she persuaded herself. _'Think of how many Trojans and others have died through his sword alone. Think of how he ended Helenus's life with one, careless swipe.'_

The image of Helenus's severed head flashed through her mind and she remembered the icy, inhuman look in Achilles' eyes before he had decapitated Helenus. There had only been one purpose in those eyes, the purpose to slaughter all opposition before him.

The memory had convinced her. The only way for the killer to die was to kill him.

She would need a weapon, something to strike quickly with as he slept. It was incredibly dark inside the tent. The pitch-black darkness settled over her like a demon of paranoia. As she crawled blindly through the tent, she kept glancing over her shoulder to assure herself that Achilles had not awakened. The warrior did toss and turn in his sleep and a small groan would escape from his lips every now and then. Every time he did make a sound, she would whirl around, expecting him to charge at her any minute.

Doubts and second thoughts flew into her mind, but she found the pile of discarded armor that Achilles had stripped of. The impulse came back, spurring her on. She selected a dagger, rusty, but still sharp enough.

She stood slowly and tiptoed to stand over him beside his bed. A narrow stream of moonlight spilled across his face and she noticed the beads of sweat trickling down his temple. _'He's dreaming a nightmare,'_ she realized.

And this fact made him seem more human, more vulnerable. She slid the dagger under his chin and against his throat. And then, the closed lids of his eyes opened to reveal the pure, clear blue orbs that made her freeze.

"Do it," he whispered, looking straight up at her, holding her gaze.

'_He wants me to kill him?'_ she wondered in shock. _'Why is he so confident? Even a warrior as fierce as he is has no shield now. I could sink the blade into his throat before he even tries to attack me.'_

"Do it," he repeated, cocky, still giving the orders.

"You aren't afraid?" Briseis whispered almost desperately. Now indeed, her impulse seemed pathetic and totally stupid. How could she, a tiny temple priestess, have even dreamed that she could kill Achilles?

"Every man dies," he shrugged, the dagger lightly scraping his skin. "Whether it be now or fifty years later does not matter to me."

His hands had grabbed hers and she shuddered. Her own hands were totally covered by his. He could break each of her fingers like snapping a twig. But instead, he forced her hands to press the dagger deeper.

"Kill me," he ordered.

Her fingers loosened their grip around the dagger. "No."

'_I said no?'_ she wondered in amazement. _'I must be the greatest fool in all of history. Here I have the invitation to kill Achilles and I say no!'_

Then, his hands flew up to grasp her arms and in a single moment, he had pulled her down to roll her under him, under his warm body. She was trapped.

Dazed, she could only look up into his eyes, those beautiful, amazing eyes. But there was no coldness in those eyes anymore. There was hunger and want, and still beneath, caring.

His hand that was underneath her leg slowly traveled up, his fingers pulling off the dirty strips of cloth she wore. The roughness of his fingers brushed against the bare skin of her thigh, the feeling chilling and yet, electrifying.

And gently, he lowered his head to kiss her, caressing her lips. There was sweetness in the kiss and she wanted more of it. She answered back, her hands dropping the dagger and then circling around his neck to tangle her fingers in his golden hair, her grip pressing her against him. His kiss deepened then, devouring her mouth.

His other hand that lay beneath her back rolled her over to lie on top of him. He slipped the ruined dress over her shoulders and pushed the cloth to her waist, ripping it in half then and tossing the remains carelessly on the ground.

Briseis had lost, surrendered. She had discarded her priestess robes just like that. And she hated herself for it, but at the same time, Achilles had consumed her soul and it was all she cared about.

There was no great Trojan War. There were no promises of glory by killing hundreds. There was no Troy, no Greece, no one else.

There was only the two of them, entangled in each other in the night and that thought settled into her mind, settling all the chaos and she felt for the first time in so long,

Peace.

Long after it was over, Briseis lay against him with his arm over her waist. She had fallen asleep, exhausted.

Achilles noticed a thin chain of shining gold encircling Briseis's smooth neck. He fingered it thoughtfully, remembering the boy that he had killed at the temple. That boy had worn a chain of gold just like this and he remembered seeing Briseis scramble toward the boy's body to snatch something.

Flashback

"You want to know why I tried to kill your cousin?" Briseis had screamed. "Because you murdered mines, a man who has never hurt you."

End Flashback

Achilles let go of the chain and slowly placed a kiss on Briseis's forehead.

"I'm sorry."


End file.
